


the ashes in my wake

by reinadelmuerte



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Tony Stark, Canonical Character Death, Competent Tony Stark, F/M, Grief/Mourning, I only have a vague idea where this is going so thank you for coming along for the ride, Introspection, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pairing undecided, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, WIP, good communication, he gets better?, utterly self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25240417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinadelmuerte/pseuds/reinadelmuerte
Summary: Tony Stark died as he lived: a hero. He accepted his death, content in the knowledge that he'd saved the ones he cared about, and Tony's heart has always been bigger than most would give him credit for. That was supposed to be it—movie's over, fade to black, no encore here.The universe had other ideas.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, Happy Hogan/Pepper Potts, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Phil Coulson & Tony Stark, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 83





	the ashes in my wake

**Author's Note:**

> So! Welcome to _the ashes in my wake_! I've always loved time travel fix-it stories, so why not put my own spin on it?  
> I wrote this when I should have been sleeping or doing literally anything else, and it's not beta-ed, so please be gentle. I'm really excited to see where this goes, though, and I hope you'll all enjoy this joyride through space, time, and the realms with me.

This is how it ends:

“And _I..._ am Iron Man.”

With a snap of his fingers and a savage grin on his bloody lips, order is restored and Thanos’ army is reduced to naught but dust on the wind. The battle stumbles to a halt as he stumbles to his knees ~~(sparks of light, yellow-orange-blue-green, flash across his vision)~~ and thinks, _it’s done_. 

The pain is an afterthought. Tony has long been inured to even the sharpest of agony, and in the immortal words of the Black Knight, _‘tis but a scratch_. No, it is relief that brings him to his knees—sheer, exultant relief. The weight of a galaxy has lifted itself from his shoulders and yet it is only now that he allows himself to collapse, so used to the burden that its absence is more overwhelming than even the heaviest of loads. He could bear a thousand miseries, but one moment of happiness and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

A ragged breath escapes him, half laugh, half sob, as he turns his gaze to the rest of the battlefield. The remaining Avengers and everyone else who had come to stand against Thanos look almost as lost as he does, staring at the remains of what had seemed like an overwhelming force swirling into nothingness. It was hard to believe that it could really be so simple after everything they'd gone through to get there. And yet all it took was a thought and the snap of his fingers, something that had seemed so much more monumental when Thanos' much larger hands had done the same five years ago. 

A triumphant cry goes up as the reality of their victory settles a bit. Cheers echo across the desolate ruins of the land Tony had donated to the Avengers Initiative after Sokovia. Tony can't join in through the tightness in his chest and the pall of exhaustion that's quickly settling hazy and dull across his mind. ~~(yellow sparks cut through the haze, gone in one sluggish blink of an eye.)~~

Some time must pass because the next thing he knows, there’s the sound of rushing feet pounding their way towards him, and he sees the blurry outline of Rhodey’s concerned face staring at his as he caresses his ravaged face with more tenderness than he's ever believed he deserves. There’s grim acceptance on his face as he takes a step back and Peter, his darling ~~son~~ apprentice, skids to his knees in front of him, his hands fluttering anxiously as he takes in the damage to both his body and the suit. 

“Mister Stark? H-hey! Mister Stark, can you hear me?” A shaky smile flits across his face as he makes a valiant attempt to appear unphased even as his eyes begin to fill. “It’s Peter. Hey… We won, Mister Stark. We won!” He’s losing his battle against the tears at this point and he attempts to smile reassuringly at him through the haze, though his muscles don’t seem to want to cooperate at the moment. Peter lets his hand rest on his shoulder, his head drooping just a bit as he says, “You did it, Sir, you did it….” His head joins his hand on Tony’s shoulder as his own begin to quake in earnest, tears mixing with the soot that coats his armor. “I’m sorry, Tony….” 

~~(the sparks cling to his hand and arc across his face, just a bit.)~~

He wants to object as Peter is pulled away from him, but considering he can’t quite command his facial muscles to form a smile, he doesn’t think that he'll be able to get the meaning across right. He sees the blue of the rescue armor and knows, even before she kneels down too, that Pepper is the one who pulled Peter away. Part of him, larger than the part that cried out at his ~~son~~ apprentice being taken away, is grateful that he’ll be spared the messy reality of his death. He doesn’t deserve to see another ~~parental figure~~ mentor die before his eyes. He wishes he could spare him—spare them all from this. 

Pepper gives him a tight smile, succeeding where Tony had failed. “Hey, FRIDAY, what’ve we got?” Always the practical one, Pepper. She lays her hand gently over the arc reactor as FRIDAY responds.

_“Life functions critical.”_

She sucks in a deep breath, steeling herself. His Pepper had always been good at that, putting on a veneer of strength even when she was about to fall apart. He’d always been grateful for that, for her ability to keep it together. It was one of the things that made _them_ work when his brain was working against him, too many thoughts flitting through his mind too quickly, far too few of them good. It had gotten easier when they were away from everything, especially when he had something else to focus his attention on. _Morgan…!_

A tear trickles down his ruined cheek. ~~(orange light chases it down his face.)~~

Pepper places her other hand on his now damp cheek and he turns into it as much as his rapidly stiffening neck will allow. She sniffles. “Tony, look at me,” she orders sternly, gently. He forces his eyes open one last time, gazing into her tear-filled eyes. “We’re going to be okay.” She moves her thumb over his cheekbone in one final caress as she focuses on keeping her voice steady and her lips smiling, “You can rest now, love.”

* * *

This is how it starts:

Tony Stark dies in the wartorn ruins of the Avengers Compound with a faint smile stretched across his cracked and bloody lips and muddled pangs of agony drifting along his ruined right side, emanating from the desiccated remains of his hand where the modified gauntlet still rests, sparking almost imperceptibly. He dies assured that he has burned all the things he had to burn and saved all the people he needed to save, having laid down on the wire for the last time. He dies... content, if not precisely happy with the outcome. ~~(he aches for those he leaves behind.)~~

But name one hero who was happy. Who lived to see the aftermath and came out unchanged for the ordeal. He hadn't been able to conjure one up before he kicked the bucket, but he welcomed anyone else to try. Perhaps counterintuitively, it had been a reassuring notion when he'd laid awake for hours on end, dreams haunted both by what came before and what might happen next. That his discontent might be shared was a grim sort of consolation, but he'd taken what he could get in those days. 

But now his hyperactive mind could finally rest, the heartbeat in his ears stuttering in time with his faltering thoughts and the rest of the world seemingly wading through molasses as his blurred vision goes dark. 

And then time stops. He is blessedly pain free for the first time in decades, and he welcomes the reprieve, slipping without protest into the darkness. It feels as though he is sinking into a warm embrace, the feeling surrounding his until it encompasses his entire being. He is not used to feeling secure.

And then sinking turns to falling. He is being dragged beneath the placid surface of what had once been a comforting void. He can’t conjure up the willpower to struggle though. He’s struggled for so long, fought so hard, but he already had his last stand. He lets his eyes close ~~(blue sparks fly)~~ , forcing himself to accept what he’d long feared. After all, there’s no stars here to remind him of the portal or his unwilling sojourn on the ship with Nebula, just void. It’s somehow comforting, the utter lack of stimulation. 

He falls for what feels like an eternity. Long enough for the falling to feel like flying ~~(perhaps it had never been the falling that frightened him, but the inevitably unpleasant landing)~~ and he revels in the sensation. Flying had always signified freedom to him, and part of him hopes that that’s what death is—freedom from life’s suffering. Perhaps it’s a romantic notion, but he’d always considered the possibility of awareness after death to be foolish as well, and look where that had gotten him. 

So abruptly that fear doesn’t have a chance to sink its claws into his consciousness, he’s no longer falling. Green light fills his vision and he slams back into awareness, sensation assaulting him from all directions. He hadn’t realized that he’d been falling long enough to forget how hot air felt against his face, the scratch of fine cloth against over-sensitive skin, sunlight in his eyes, the dulcet tones of Brian Johnson and the rumble of engines caressing his ears, breath in his lungs. He hunches in on himself and gasps in scorching hot air, and that’s new too. He hasn’t been able to take a full breath in fifteen years, not since the arc reactor and the scar tissue it left in its wake. 

A hesitant hand touches his shoulder as he attempts to get his bearings, eyes clenched shut against the searing light. “You alright, sir?”

He doesn’t recognize the voice. 

“Uh-huh, yea. All good here, chief. Just, uh, a cramp.” He curses himself for stumbling over the lie. ~~(he is most definitely _not alright_.)~~ He slowly raises himself back to a fully upright position, pins and needles assaulting his right arm as he pastes his press smile onto his face. “Must’ve been the plane food. You know how it is,” he says, conspiratorially.

The soldiers— _!_ _!!_ —all laugh nervously, confused. His gaze darts around the humvee frantically, and he’s glad for his ostentatious red sunglasses that at least partially disguise the sheer panic in his eyes. They catch on the camera hanging loosely in the grip of the soldier directly across from him and he latches onto the vague memory associated with it. “Still want that picture?”

This seems to brighten the mood and the soldier next to him beams, “Hell yea, sir.”

“Bring it in, then,” Tony says. He’s missing something. “Don’t want to see this on your Ins- MySpace page, alright?” The soldier throws up a peace sign and the designated photographer fumbles with the camera.

Just as the soldier next to him starts to berate the photographer for his hesitation, the lead humvee explodes, flipping end over end in front of them. The driver swerves around another land mine, slamming on the breaks as flames erupt around them. 

_Shit._

The soldiers are shouting over the sounds of gunfire, tossing instructions back and forth as panic engulfs him. He scrambles to undo his seatbelt, fumbling around for a weapon or a shield. Anything, really. His head snaps up as the driver falls to a spray of bullets and the photographer takes cover behind the humvee, firing in bursts until he too succumbs to the onslaught. 

~~( _nononononono_ )~~

Tony wrenches open his door and hunkers down next to the wheel well, keeping the door open wide for more cover. Another explosive goes off on the other side of the humvee, rocking it onto two wheels and threatening to crush him for a fraction of a second before it crashes back onto four wheels with a startling creaking noise. Shrapnel sprays through the open door, some embedding itself in his back and scalp. 

He hisses in pain, scrambling away from the humvee. He stumbles to his feet, eyes scanning for a way out. He spots Rhodey out of the corner of his eye and he lurches in his direction, snatching up a discarded rifle as he goes. He feels a bullet rip through the meat of his thigh as he breaks into a sprint. Another hits him directly in the hip. This one he feels reverberate through his frame, and he trips over nothing, just barely managing to catch himself before he face plants. 

He drags himself to his feet once more, diving for cover behind the next humvee in the caravan. He steadies himself on the hood, quickly aiming and firing off a few bursts of bullets into the chaotic battlefield. His shots find their mark more often than not and he lets himself feel a bit of satisfaction at that even as he continues to fire. 

There’s a whistle of displaced air behind him and he freezes as he hears the thud of something impacting close by. Tony turns to flee but his injured leg buckles beneath the increased pressure. He falls.

~~(a flash of _red_.)~~

The image of a Stark bomb embedded in the sand sears itself once more into his memory. He only just manages to fling his arms over his head before it detonates and his ears start to ring. His vision fades. 

~~( _f_ _uck._ ) ~~

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I don't have a set update schedule since I just started writing this last night, but I'll try and update fairly regularly.  
> Pairings are undecided as of right now, but I'm leaning toward FrostIron. I'm very open to other suggestions, though, so let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
